No Longer an Innocent
by Aranel Saerwen
Summary: ON HIATUS. Never lose your innocence. It's the most important thing. Henry/OC...Rated M
1. Title Page: No Longer an Innocent

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**_No Longer An Innocent_**

_by Aranel du Lac_

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_Experience, which destroys innocence, also leads back to it._  
- James Arthur Baldwin

_There is no aphrodisiac like innocence  
_- Jean Baudrillard

_The greater our innocence, the greater our strength and the swifter our victory  
_- Mahatma Ghandi

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Dedicated to my sisters; two of the most innocent and worldly women I've ever met.  
Thank you for making me laugh. And I forgive you for making me cry ;)

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	2. Prologue: It Should Be Illegal

**AN: **This is a try, a spur of the moment try, to write a Tudor fanfic. It will be a Henry/OC pairing - becaue Jonathan Rhys-Meyers is fine - and will most likely be very AU. I claim no great knowledge of the Tudor period or Henry the VIII or his wives, though I have done some research, and will probably do more as I continue writing this story. I also claim no rights to the Tudors...If I owned it, I would have Jonathan at my house right now and I would NOT be on this computer :D So...with that said, I hope any and every person who reads this will enjoy, and I would greatly appreciate feedback.

Thanks and God bless...

Haven't we all, at some point or another, been innocent...Too innocent. I have wished my innocence, my naivety, away, countless times.

But once I finally lost it, I realized...I'd lost it. And would never get it back...

No Longer an Innocent

By: Aranel du Lac

Prologue : It Should be Illegal to Deceive a Woman's Heart

The night of the summer solstice was cool and the sky was studded with stars; glimmering diamonds in velvet, stars which reminded Mercedes Kent of the glittering jewel on her left ring finger - the jewel given her by Thomas Dillon when he had asked her to be his wife, the jewel that had sealed her future as a most happy one. A smile curling her already curvaceous lips, Mercedes reveled in her present and promised joy; all was going well for her. There she was, just eighteen, and already engaged to be married to a promising member of the royal court, Viscount Thomas Dillon - the man she loved. Passing the doors of her family's chapel, Mercedes crossed herself, thanking the Virgin and Child for bringing about her heart's desire, and continued on her way to bed, leaving the revelry of the party behind, content to continue celebrating on her own, only wishing that Thomas could be there.

A flutter of anticipation shook her heart and made her eyes shine; she could hardly wait for Thomas to arrive from Kingston - their home. She could imagine the high stone walls, the banners with her husband's - and what would soon be her own - crest flying above them, and the intricate gardens that would sprawl within them. With pride she thought of the trousseau she and her mother had been working on, the delicately embroidered linens and tapestries she and her mother had prepared, the bolts of silk, wool brocade, satin, and sarcenet, and the silverware and the fine porcelain tea set her mother had hand-painted as her engagement gift, and she thought how happy she would make Thomas, how hard she would try at it. He deserved the best of everything, he'd made her so happy already.

Another smile crept over her face and she heard a song in her head, the refrain of the dance currently being held in the great room below her, as she neared her father's library, approaching the stairs that would lead her at last to her bed chamber. But just as she was passing the oaken doors she paused, having heard a low muffled sound coming from within. Could one of the servants be in there? If so, what on earth were they doing? She stepped closer to the door, and made out a muffled word..._Thomas_. He was here! Already he was here! She couldn't even think of going to bed without seeing him. Not taking time to wonder what he was doing in the library, having not seen him arrive, she opened the door, a broad smile on her face as she expected to see her well-missed fiancé.

And she did see him. But the manner of his dress - or rather, undress - caused the smile to fall from her face. It wasn't that Thomas was not a handsome man, for he was, it was the fact that he was with her rather handsome, elder sister, Marissa, before the fire on the Turkish rug, their clothes sprung haphazardly about the room. Thomas stood, his eyes wide, his face paling, with his trousers held in front of his nakedness. Through rapidly blurring vision, Mercedes turned from him and looked at Marissa, whose chestnut hair fell over her creamy shoulders in reckless abandon, careless to cover herself, an indifferent, if not slightly smug, look on her flushed face. Her dreams tumbling with a tear, Mercedes whirled from the door, covering her mouth with her hand as she darted for the stairs.

"Mercedes!" She heard Thomas call her name, but she did not heed it.

She took the steps two at a time, her knuckles white as she held up her full blue skirts, as she held up her broken heart. But, Thomas caught up to her, his strides surely longer, and, grabbing her arm, he whirled her back around to face him. She was relieved to find him clothed, however haphazardly his shirt and trousers hung on his frame. But still, she would not look in his eyes, closing her own so she would not have neither to confront him, hear him, nor believe that any of what she'd just witnessed had happened.

"Mercedes? Mercedes, I'm sorry...I'm sorry, I..." he was floundering, trying to tilt her chin up, but she jerked her head away from his rough and warm fingers, thinking of how they had just been touching her sister in the most intimate of ways. "Will you look at me?" he pleaded.

It was then the anger came, as he begged her, as if he was the one to be pitied, and when she did open her eyes, she poured on him all of the poisonous emotion that had welled up in her in return for his betrayal. But Thomas seemed unmoved by it, for he simply started to say,

"I am so sorry, Mercedes. It was a mistake - an awful mistake - I came and there she was and...I was drunk. I never meant to hurt you." Here he kissed her hand, "I love you. I will love you forever - Can you not forgive me and forget..."

The diamond winked back at her cruelly. Was that a flaw she saw there in it's depths now, in the waning moonlight? "I may be naive, Thomas, but I am no fool." she said coldly. He had drank not even enough to flavor his breath - if he'd had even a sip. Did he really expect her to believe he had somehow managed to come into the castle and go up to the library, without anyone noticing, by accident? By mistake?

"You must understand..." he paused, his tone reasoning, "I love you, but, I am only a man."

_Only a man_? His words brought back memories of the countless lurid tales she had heard about errant wives and daughters; how they were thrown from the house, turned away from society, hidden in distant manors where they cared for the man's bastards - the man's acceptable bastards. In contrast, the indiscretions of the husband or son were rationalized, even encouraged, for the males must 'sow their oats', they must continue the family line. This skewed outlook had always seemed unjust to Mercedes, and had always sent a heat through her very blood. She narrowed her eyes at him, "You think that justifies it?" she hissed, "You are not even a man, Thomas Dillon; you are a cad! And as such, I will never marry you" With this she flung him off of her person and started back up the steps.

This statement did have an effect on the young Viscount, and he yelled after he harshly. "How could you blame me? You have never offered the same services. At least Marissa knows how to treat a man!"

Mercedes stopped as he said this, the dagger he'd thrown digging deep into her heart. He should have been grateful she had waited, it was an assurance that he was the first, and would have been the last. He should have been grateful, but he wasn't. She turned only so that he would know he had not gotten the best of her, but her eyes glittered with unbridled anger and contempt as she said, "Well, you should marry _her_ then, Thomas. And I will immediately forget _you_!" As she said this, she pulled the ring off her finger, and threw it down the steps, letting it bounce to the floor with tinkling pings. Looking back at Thomas, thinking how things were supposed to have been, the delicate sound of its fall was as loud as cannon fire, and just as detrimental. Her heart sagged and her breath caught as she sharply turned her back on him and rushed into her room.

The door closed loudly behind her, the bang not seeming loud enough though. Only minutes ago she had been the happiest woman in house, now she was the most wretched. From her window, the sounds of the nights ongoing revelry drifted up to her, provoking bitter thoughts. Thomas had been with Marissa - her own sister of all people. What Thomas had said about the elder girl's willingness to 'service' him came back to her and angry tears burned her throat and eyes. Was that what men wanted? A Marissa? Her sister was a simpering seductress who had never been lacking in suitors. She danced with everyone, smiled at everyone, alternatively paraded and demurred for everyone with reckless abandon and all pride. Mercedes had always known that her sister was more knowledgeable of the carnal side of life, and she'd been raised in the French court, so that was to be expected, but this...She'd never thought it possible. But their mother had insisted that she keep one daughter with her, and so Mercedes had been raised in the modest court of England - the rare times she'd actually been there - and so she and Marissa had always been separate in their ways, strangers even, sisters only by blood. What matter was blood anyway?

Mercedes had always been pleased with herself; not arrogant, not pious, but pleased that her husband would know that what was hers would be his alone for the taking, saved for him, his treasure and prize. She had seen her innocence, her virtue, as just that, a virtue. But now she felt a fool, and her wounded heart throbbed. She didn't want Thomas, not now, but she did still love him. For an awful moment, she thought she might never love again, but the next she assured herself that she would, she would love again - she must. But, if Thomas, the man who had been set to marry her, had professed his love countless times, had not wanted a virtuous bride, who else would? Mercedes stepped over to the window, desiring and needing the fresh air that moved beyond it.

Looking out over the courtyard, she could see torches blazing and figures dancing and laughing within their flickering lights. She didn't want to be alone, to be a spinster, a burden on her parents and a blemish on society. She thought of the moments just before she'd discovered Thomas and Marissa, remembered her naive bliss, with scorn. What a fool she had been, what a stupid, blind, little fool. She tilted her chin, squaring her shoulders, as her eyes glittered with hard determination. Well, no more, she thought, I will no longer be the innocent. I will not be cuckolded and have my dreams stolen and dashed. She swallowed the bitter taste of remorse and turned away from the window, pulling the bell-rope that would bring her maid to help her undress.

As Emma began undoing the laces and the beaded bodice came off, Mercedes stood in only her thin chemise; she took one long, good look at herself; her figure was pale and smooth, untouched, and...innocent. Stepping out of her skirt, Mercedes vowed...no more.


	3. Chapter 1: Pawns

**AN: Hello readers, first of all I want to thank you all for your kind reviews and the alerts! They are greatly appreciated :) Secondly, I want to say thank you to Annawanthat2 for the inspiration she unknowingly gave me, and I encourage you all to go and check out her Jane Austen story, **_**Unexpected Love**_**, if you haven't. And thirdly...well, I don't have a thirdly, so, I'll simply end this note with a wish that you all enjoy this next chapter :) **

**Disclaimer: see Chap. 1/Prologue**

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Chapter 1: Pawns

_1517  
__Kentwood Manor  
__Berkshire, England_

Earl of Hereford, Hugo Rushworth, sat beside the Baron and Baroness of Berkshire at their table in the common room, a fire roaring at their backs, throwing their stoic expressions into stern shadow as the three contemplated the two young women in front of them. Hugo in particular sized each one up, profiling and categorizing their strengths and their weaknesses, his dark brown eyes hawkish in their intensity. He had to say that he was neither surprised, nor really very upset by what had transpired last night; he had always known that Marissa was devious, and that Mercedes was a naive child just waiting to be taken advantage of, and he was almost pleased by how their weaknesses had played off of one another, to his benefit - or so he hoped to make it.

"I never dreamt that such scandal would be committed by my daughters, and certainly never under my own roof!" Edward Kent began, his plain voice breaking the tense silence. "I am thoroughly ashamed and horrified...by _both_ of you." The father looked from one to the other of his daughters, noting Marissa's blank features, Mercedes glinting at his words, no doubt not understanding his meaning. "Mercedes," he addressed her, and her eyes focused on him, "I am appalled by your actions; the marriage contract between you and Lord Dillon was never yours to break! And if I had my way, it would still not be so...However..." he looked down at the table for a moment, contemplating to pattern in the wood. How difficult it was to have daughters instead of sons. He looked back up and continued, "…The Viscount refuses to marry you." Mercedes felt a glint of satisfaction through the mire of her anger. "Marissa," her father's gaze turned to the elder girl, "it seems that you have earned his devotion, and the Viscount tells me that you are...with child?"

At those two words Mercedes fought to keep from whipping her head round to her sister, in the hopes of finding a negation. But she could feel the smug smile on her face and she knew that it was true. She realized then that that had not been her sister's and fiancé's first 'meeting'. Anger welled up in her heart, bitterness and loathing bringing bile to her throat, as her father continued,

"At least one of you will be married, but, Mercedes..." he shook his head.

The displeasure of her father and the resentment and unwelcome jealousy in her heart weighed on Mercedes shoulders like the sky did Atlas'. She fought tears back, even though she was pleased, rejoicing, that she would not have to marry Thomas, Marissa was…pregnant?

What had she done for God to despise her so? Her sister, the woman who had dallied merrily with every young man in the county - be he married or not - while her third engagement had ended, as tragically fatal as the other two, had now conceived the child of Mercedes' promised one, the man she had thought to gladly love forever. Would she be forced to call the child that might have been her own, niece or, worse yet, nephew? She knew that if Marissa had a son, Thomas would feel secure in every facet of his 'uninhibited' bride, and that he would forever sneer in Mercedes direction, pleased with his course of action. With a desire of which she was not wholly proud, Mercedes prayed that she should be granted mercy enough not to have to endure such fate.

"I will speak with Lord Reginald, perhaps we can come to an agreement." At her father's weary speculation, Mercedes' eyes widened with this new horror; Sir William Reginald was a man of three score and eight, a decrepit knight who barely held on to his lands, title, and life with his liver-spotted hands, rumored to be ever harsh. He would die just as she lost her bloom, leaving her a desperate widow, and she would have to remarry another elder lord, or join the convent.

"Oh, come now, Edward." Hugo Rushworth spoke at last, having seen his opportunity with the announcement of the Viscount's decision to marry Marissa, he now took his chance to use the circumstances. "I'm sure we could do better than that. Look at the girl; she is the picture of health and beauty." he said motioning to Mercedes. Indeed, despite her fitful sleep the previous night, Mercedes was beautiful; her fair face youthful, her green eyes alluring, her long dark curls shining in the morning light as they fell over the shoulders of her dark green dress, the tailored lines displaying a trim, womanly figure.

"But there is no one else, brother." Helena Kent spoke, her voice subdued, much like her will and tenacity so Hugo thought. He held back a frown; his mother and father had not done well in their choice for his only sister's husband, Edward Kent was too much like them; content to retain present title and lands, unwilling to do what was necessary to further his position and influence.

"Perhaps not in the country, sister, but at Court..." he let the word hang like the promising fruit it was; a glistening plum of ripe, dark hue, just waiting to be plucked. "She could make a fine match, much better than any mere Viscount." He looked at Mercedes as he said this, noting her fleeting expression of...pleasure? Perhaps the kind of a hungry nature. But what was she hungry for? He didn't take the time to worry about that answer, as long as she had appetite she would be useful...Appetite was always useful. He turned his attention back to Edward, the flame of his aspiration fanned.

The baron was pondering the suggestion, weighing the costs and rewards closely. Finally, he turned to Hugo, his eyes devoid of emotion, left free to observe, "You would take her with you to Court?"

Hugo reigned in his ambition, not wanting to seem overzealous and thereby elicit suspicion that would halt his progress, "Well, yes. She is my niece and...it is right to help family." he hinted at the possibilities with his tone, hoping that, if there was any ambition within his brother-in-law, he could feed it. He was pleased to see a flicker of recognition in the dark grey eyes. Maybe Edward would learn with more time.

"Very well." he gave a nod of his head, "Thank you, Hugo, for your help in this matter."

And that was that. Mercedes was going to Court. For a moment she stood there, almost angry as her elders excluded her from any say in the matter. Though she was pleased with the decision overall, she felt powerless as she was moved about like a chess piece on their board, and she resented the assumption. She had felt her uncle's calculating gaze rest on her several times, and though she recognized it, was wary of it, she did not fight it. Perhaps he saw her as naive, pliable to his whim, however, he did not know of her intent, of her resolve and her will; even if he won in the end, on one purpose she was determined: she might be a pawn, but she would not be anybody's fool.

As they were excused, the baron and earl wishing to plan further, Mercedes turned to the door, meeting Marissa's smug smirk, her dark brown eyes flashing contemptuously as one hand rested on the flat of her corseted belly. Mercedes regarded her for a moment, her expression a mask to hide the injury received, and then, picking up her skirts, she left. After all, she had a good deal of packing to do.

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It was a week before they left, and the day of their departure was bright and clear as the servants secured their trunks to the carriage. Farewells were brief, none of those staying or leaving feeling any great sorrow at the parting, and soon the horses were whipped into a steady trot, sending the carriage lurching forward and a small cloud of dust up to the sky.

As the familiar forests and hills of Berkshire rolled by, Mercedes looked out over them, her thoughts changing as rapidly as did the scenery. Though she was glad to be leaving Kentwood, she was anxious about joining the Royal Court. It was the breeding grounds of scandal and intrigue; banquets and masques every other night, chapel every morning, it was a place of ever changing tastes and loyalties, and she was afraid, despite her determination, of what might happen there. So many unwary men and women had been lost in its decadent debauchery.

As if he had been able to read her thoughts, Hugo broke the stillness of the carriage, his rich baritone smooth and soothing, "You have no need to fret, Mercedes; I will look after you. We will find a promising match for you." He assured her benevolently.

Mercedes feigned a smile, trying to appear reassured. However, she knew that he had some design in all of this, and that anything he did would never be wholly unselfish, no matter how much so it would seem. She did not believe he would harm her, no, he was not diabolical, yet she would not trust him with everything; he would be neither her confidante, nor her north star. She had realized some time back that her uncle was very different from her parents in that he was always seeking something, always furthering his interests. Some called him resourceful, some few callous, overall, he was a man to be mindful of.

Hugo watched his niece as she turned her attention back to the scenery. She was shrewd, slightly more so than he already knew, however, she was not quite so good at keeping her thoughts a secret - at least, not from a man who was as practiced as he was in seeking them out. She didn't fully rely on him, she had her own ideas of what she wanted and what she would do to get it. However, of course, this did not impede him as it might others. No, he was Hugo Rushworth, an opportunist, and a cunning one at that, and he would use whatever cards she and the rest of the world dealt him to get what _he _wanted. He smiled to himself at the thought; Mercedes was very beautiful, and she was intelligent, besides, she had been jilted, and a jealous woman who sought to compensate herself for her loss - as he was certain that she did, having recognized that light in her dark eyes - was a very advantageous card if played right.

Indeed, the Earl of Hereford was a very interesting blend of thought and action. Having had two wives, only to lose a son by the first and his second proving barren, rendering him without an heir, Lord Rushworth had acquired a great deal of influence - meaning wealth and property - by his own political and economical maneuverings. But still, with acres of land and favor with the king, he hungered for more; seeing power as a the Holy Grail, just waiting for the knight who was enterprising enough to come and take it, and himself as one such knight. Therefore, he never hesitated - no, never ceased, to manipulate any given situation or opportunity to benefit his ends. Surely, he had become very adept in this praxis.

Turning his own attentions out the window, he leaned back in his seat, allowing the leisure pace to further relax him. Yes, the world was a relentless game of chess in which they were all pawns. He had no qualms in admitting vulnerability, however, it was not how the game might make or break said pawns that mattered, instead, it was how one participated. It was that, that would decide whether the individual would win or lose.


	4. Chapter 2: Providence & Progress

Hey guys, first of all I must **profusely** apologize for taking **THREE** months to update this story. I'm utterly horrified and deeply sorry. I really love this story and want to write it, I simply hit a rough patch in executing it. I'm sure you other writers know what that's like and I hope you can forgive me - all you wonderful readers out there too :) Thank you for checking out chap 2, hope it is worth the wait!

Ok, I'll let you get to the story - **at last!**

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Chapter 2: Providence & Progress

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Providence has nothing good or high in store for one who does not resolutely aim at something high or good. A purpose is the eternal condition of success.  
- Thornton Wilder

A dark green skirt was draped over a large upholstered chair. A shaft of light pierced through a high glass window into a dark wooded room lined with shelves, filled with books. A frown creasing an otherwise smooth brow.

Half a month had passed since they had arrived at her uncle's estate built near the Thames and the summer court. Half a month waisted as Lord Rushworth conducted _his own private business_ - excluding his niece who was left to amuse herself in his great, dreary house - alone.

No one came to call on her here, for her uncle was so busy attending to his own matters that he had of yet made any introductions of Lady Mercedes Kent in the area. And since his wife had died and they had never had children, there was neither aunt or cousins to visit with, nor were there any neighbors who dropped in. The house which was her uncle's was more like a prison to Mercedes everyday; servants mute and single-minded, the rooms dark and drear, continuing lifeless. She even found the library so - usually a place of great animosity in a house - but again her uncle's influence once more prevailed and there was not much more than dry brittle works to grace the shelves.

As she sat there now, an insipid book lying neglected on her knee, she looked wistfully out the window at the early morning sunlight as it set the verdant knot gardens aglow, recalling her mother's most recent and only letter to her with mounting frustration.

In words flowery and sugared, it urged her to trust and obey her uncle, _honorable Lord Rushworth_, in all things. Declaring that he was to be respected and empowered as her guide and rightful _guardian_.

Guardian indeed! What had he done to further her betrothal? Why did he keep her here - in every way imprisoned but for chains! She was not fool enough to believe that he was _neglecting _the prospects for her marriage. No, he was not so reckless, he was surely looking out for his best interests - and his alone. Who knew what state his _affairs_ were in. He kept secrets like they would rot! A practice that could build no confidence - despite her parent's assurance. But even then, what reference was that? Indeed, he was probably tilling his fields, preparing to sow his seed - her - and reap a harvest while she sat practically trapped in this wretched house.

But what could she do? Alas, she was only a _woman_, and though there are _many methods_ a woman has of protecting her interests, there was little to act upon when all she could do was sew, read, and play the lute!

Her uncle left her without arrow or target - what use was her bow?

She huffed to herself, slapping the book closed with frustration. She needed to do something. Something to clear her head and give her a fresh perspective on the situation so that she could form a working plan.

She looked back out the window, noting the hue and height of the trees beyond the garden walls. How far away were the other estates? She wondered silently.

Finally feeling direction, she resolutely pushed up from the chair and headed for the door. She would go for a walk beyond the estate. If nothing else she would get some fresh air. Besides, there was always the possibility of finding _more_. Grabbing her shawl she left through the kitchen and, crossing to the eastern wall, opened the gate to the fields beyond.

- - -

The rain came suddenly - forcefully. Drenching any and every thing within its reach. But even as the rain soaked through costly silks and leather, chilling him to the bone, Charles Brandon did not hurry out of it, instead, he relished it, holding his new mare to an easy walk.

It was foolish and pointless and, for these reasons, it was pleasurable. Reckless abandon of any nature happened to be his greatest happiness and therefore he did not care if he or his horse caught their deaths, nor that he could hardly see as the drops slid down his smooth forehead and past his thick lashes into his hazel eyes. The horse shook its great head, whinnying softly, and he chuckled. What a fine morning!

Then, he pulled up the reins, stopping the mare. Was it the rain or had he seen - A figure, hurrying in the opposite direction along the edge of the trees. He wiped his eyes and squinted some, then grinned anew as he recognized the figure of a girl. Spurring the horse keenly, he set off after her. Working into a gallop, he sawed on the rains to stop the horse, just feet in front of the stranger.

"Good day, lady!" he grinned broadly, tasting sweet summer water on his tongue, "Might I ask why a dame as fair as you would be out in such weather?"

Mercedes looked up at him ruefully; resentful of his overly chivalric tongue upon his startling her. "I was taking a morning's walk. Now I see I'm part of a chase." she reposted.

Charles looked over her pretty lithe form appreciatively, "And a fond one at that."

She narrowed her eyes at him, taken aback by his brazen gaze, but then, remembering her own intentions and not being able to find complaint in his own appearance, smiled demurely. The grin of his mouth broadened.

"I suppose as a gentleman I should escort you back, milady?"

"A gentleman perhaps, but you?" she looked about searching. A disappointed shake of the head as her eyes met his once more, "I believe the exercise would be better for me."

"The exercise of walking?" he quarried dangerously.

Genuine shock colored her cheeks and she lowered her eyes - but only momentarily. Recalling Thomas with Marissa, they flew back up to his, answering her own challenge. "I'd prefer you not to speak of me so." she said evenly, with a taunt in her gaze, raising her chin, knowing how elegant a feature it was.

Surprised by her answer - or rather the contradicting manner in which it was delivered - Charles' grin only was only minutely diminished by her censure. "Forgive me, milady, but you have me quite addled - What with your sudden appearance from the wood I was more inclined to believe you a _nymph_. But I am reminded that you are indeed a lady. Might you allow me to redeem myself?" his eyes hinted at just how he might do just that.

She paused, as if deliberating and, then, gave a brief nod of her head. "If you will provide me with an _proper_ escort, you will be redeemed in my eyes, my lord."

He gave a bow of his head, holding her eyes daringly, "Thank you." Then, promptly dismounting, he stood close before her, "And such pretty eyes they are."

Mercedes was hard put to hold his gaze, fighting the instinct to turn and blush profusely. She allowed him to look into her, telling her all sorts of secrets in that breif stare, and then, to take her by the waist and sit her atop the horse. He stood very close to her as she sat up straight, her hands falling from his shoulders, and she could smell the mint he'd chewed that morning. He smiled and she realized she'd not been able to keep the blush away.

She gripped the back of the saddle with both hands as he swung up in front of her, causing her to find wrapping her arms about his middle necessary. He smiled again and she felt a calloused touch on her fingers, "You have little hands." he said, almost merrily.

"Do I?"

"Yes." and he clucked to the horse, urging it on.

- - -

Mercedes could see her uncle's house before long, and she was grateful. She was unsure how much longer she could remain pure in the sight of God, sitting behind this strange man as they galloped across the field. She found herself inadvertently pressed up against his back, the strong scent of sandalwood and leather assaulting her nose, his muscles firm and invitingly masculine to her touch, the steady sound of his breath a faint, rhythmic sound.

By the goodness of providence they were finally at the house and he slowed the horse to a stop. He stood before her to help her down, and once more she smelled mint as she took his shoulders and met his smiling gaze.

"It has been the most pleasurable of mornings to meet you, milady. All I could ask for now is to know your name?"

He stood near her again, grinning, and she could not help but smile back. "Lady Kent. Mercedes Kent."

"Lord Charles Brandon, Lady Kent." he went to kiss the top of her knuckles.

"Mercedes, Lord Brandon." She didn't know what prompted her to be so bold as to insist he use her Christian name - but she did it anyway.

"Lady _Mercedes_ then." He smiled again at how smooth her name left his tongue; as smooth as her skin. "And I'd rather be _Charles_ to you."

"You are very kind, _Lord _Charles." She insisted on his title, even though his lips were warm as his breath as they brushed her flesh, and she felt a pleasant warmth in her ears and cheeks when they did. "Would you care to come in and dry off?"

Smirking, "No, thank you. I must be off...I'm just glad it rained." He released her hand as she coloured slightly, "I hope to see you again, Lady Mercedes."

She gave a brief curtsey and he a bow before she stepped away and he gathered his reins. Soon he was back on his horse and riding away and she turned back to go inside, ideas and fancies turning in both their heads. Mercedes smiled slightly to herself as she closed the door - Finally, some progress.

Yet she had little idea of just what progress she had _actually_ made.

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PS. I have a Tudor forum started, it's more of a resource where we can all share and comment on the customs of the Tudor period.


	5. Chapter 3: There by the Water

**AN: **Here is the long awaited - too long I know - chapter 3. I am soooooooooooo sorry for said wait! I'd want to throw something at me if I was a reader. Work during this time of year is just hell and inspiration runs with the wind; coming and going as it wills. But I've got sails now and a little more time to sail with it! LOL. Thank you for the faves, alerts, and reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you. They keep this story on my mind and help me write.

I hope that you all enjoy this chappie - Henry finally officially appears! YAY! More of him to come too along with healthy portions of steam :D

PS. I'll be making a trailer for this soon and there will be a link so...Stay tuned!

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Chapter 3: There by the Water

_It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.  
_- Shakespeare

Honey, mint, and mulled wine. That was how he remembered the taste of Catherine's mouth.

With papers lying on his desk, unread and unsigned, Henry, King of England, stood at a window and looked out upon the royal knot gardens and watched his Queen play with their child, Mary. Their only child. Their only, living, _girl_ child.

Of course, Henry loved his daughter, how could he not love such a rosey cheeked babe, who cuddled and cooed whenever she saw him. How could he not love her mother whom had stolen his boyish heart when she'd come to marry his ill-fated elder brother. Yet, love was a strange emotion to him. Much like the clouds in the sky; always shifting shape and changing hue. And as he looked at the two people he loved best in the world, the sun shining upon them like gods, the shadow of a resentful cloud fell over his mind, and over his heart. It had been a year since Mary's birth and he and Catherine had yet to try for a son again.

Again...How many had he lost all ready? Three. The number came swift to his mind, a cold wind that sent shudders through his heart and down his spine. The first he had named Henry, but that beloved child had only lived fifty-two days. He had thought that a devestation. Yet worse it was to have one born too early and another born without life. They never had even opened their eyes, the hope they had brought snuffed all too quickly. There had been whispers of curses. Then Mary came.

Oh, how Catherine loved her. She showered her with kisses and spent every available hour with her, reading to her and having music played. Mary would be a wise and learned girl for having spent so much time in her mother's company. She would be dignified and noble, would understand power and humility. She would be regal, just like her mother. Fit to rule a country on her own.

But England could not be ruled by a woman. A shadow of fear passed over Henry's heart at the thought. If a Queen was England's regent, the Tudor dynasty would fail. All that he had worked and bled for, all his father had bled for, would be lost. Torn from the grip of a feminine hand. The world did not respect the power of a woman as they did that of a man, they did not fear a woman's mind. War would come, and cunning it would be.

No. He needed a son.

Dark were the King's eyes as he looked out into the golden garden. Dark clouds shadowing his gaze. Resentment, colored by fear and pride was a bad color, murky and dense. He needed a son - why would Catherine not give him one! A hard accusation, he acknowledged, but he felt justified as he remembered last night, the catapult for this day's mental journey.

He had walked down the halls with his royal escort, his breath seasoned with mint and wine. He'd gone with passionate desire in his blood. He'd abandoned Bessie since Mary's birth. He was finally going to his wife.

She had permitted him to enter, of course, and her fire was warm on his face, her smile gentle and glittering with surprised pleasure. He'd felt a familiar love swell within his heart, an old flame become a fire and he'd sent the guards away.

Honey, mint, and spiced wine. Her kiss was sweet with them. Her fingers were warm and soft on his cheek and in his hair, his were possessive about her waist. There was a familiar song playing in their blood, a spinning tune that rose and fell in time to quickening heartbeats - But only to be shattered by a loud cry.

Concern. Catherine had pulled her lips away from him, her hands falling to his shoulders, her ears and eyes strained to the door of the adjoining nursery. The crying quieted quickly, but did not stop, and both could hear the wet nurse's gentle murmurings as she tried to comfort Mary.

"Colic." Catherine had explained as she stepped away and to the door, turning her attentions to her child and away from her husband. Henry understood her worry, even shared it, but bitter was the sting of rejection and it chased the sweetness of her mouth and the evening from his tongue. Listening to Catherine begin humming and crooning to the babe as she took her from the nurse, a black thought crossed his mind, the idea that Catherine would chose her daughter over their son, and such a traitorous idea drove the King from the room of his Queen, never a word of parting spoken from his lips.

He had felt the distance at the breakfast table, her surprise at his leaving having turned from hurt to stoney resolve. But he had made no apology or explanation. It had been silent until she had gone; out to the garden, taking her smiles there.

Jealousy. Anger. Passion. Longing. Regret. These were the colors of love he knew best.

"Your Majesty..."

The voice was soft, the words spoken hesitantly, yet they were enough to draw him back from his thoughts, turning his gaze back into the castle and towards the servant who had brought a message. Another document to be read and replied to no doubt.

Space was suddenly lacking within the large room, oxygen vanishing in the current mood, oppressed and thick. Air, air and movement; he needed to outrun these thoughts that plagued him like crows on a dying thing. Brushing past the messenger, the King called for his horse.

- - -

Fast. They rode fast. The scenery whipped past them, trees blurring as chunks of earth were thrown up in their wake. Exhileration like none other ran through each rider's blood and they urged their mounts faster.

But none faster than the King, Henry.

Charles had seen it immediately, the dark mood. It had been there in the King's eyes, a snapping jade, it was there in the lines about his mouth, devoid of amusement, full of purpose, purpose to get rid of the weight that made his shoulders appear so burdened. He had seen it and immediately began the process of remedying it. He raced the King, careful to not win, careful to not lose. They spurred their horses faster till the king and his best friend had left the others of their party far behind them.

The scent of pine was refreshing, enlivening as the wind rushed in his ears. Henry felt almost instant relief, his mind clearing as his blood ran thick and fast with adrenaline. He had always been competitive, and Charles was always been a good challenger. He spurred his horse faster. There was color and sunlight, bright green and sparkling blue, gilded in amber as the afternoon wore on. The thundering of his dark stallion's hooves upon the ground echoed within his chest, the organ there pumping to keep up. Slowly, a smile broke out on his face, and as he raced on into the trees, the finish line of their impromptu sport, a laugh tore free from his throat. Free...

His mount sweating, he did not bother to reign it in as he burst into the trees, instead simply manuevering it around the broad trunks and their friendly neighbor vines, refusing to give up this chalice of mirth. He had deft hands and thighs, his horsemanship accomplished, and it was with considerable ease that he continued to race Charles to the stream that ran close by. It was a suitable destination for they both knew it well, it emptied into the Thames, and they had much experience with it from their youth. The two set the birds up from their perches, crying out indignation, and the squirrels and a lone deer scampering from their sights. Havoc equaled revelry, their favorite equation.

With Brandon not but a tenth of a meter behind him, the king broke free of the forest once more, onto the wide banks of the waterway, and he was smiling jubilantly at having won twice. But jubilance was short enjoyed and he halted his horse suddenly as his eyes took in a sight he'd never seen there before.

A girl, standing in the very middle of the stream.

He remembered the Arthurian Lady of the Lake and this svelte creature presented her accurate, despite having abandoned her lake and trespassed upon his stream. His surprise turned to momentary awe and then curiousity.

She was an unusual apparition standing there; her skirt of pale blue floating on the water, her eyes high as if startled, yet her chin straight and unafraid - her knee unbowing. Did she not know who he was? From experience, impertinence was charming but rebellion was something else. His horse danced along the bank, eyeing the water hungrily but he held it at bay even as his eyes slowly consumed the maid. Scrutinizing, even daring her to continue her display of defiance.

It was then that Charles escaped from the grasp of the trees and made their meeting a crowd.

- - -

Mercedes did not recognize the man who seemed to leap from the forest like some medieval knight. But she did recognize the immediate acknowledgement of his attractive figure and face as it turned to her, etched with surprise like her own. She had dropped the flower chain she had been forming and stood erect beneath his penetrating gaze, that one which roved over her figure openly and then resided upon her face as if to read her thought and intent. She did not know how much he could see but his face flickered with thoughts carefully concealed.

A second figure followed him, and this one she knew immediately. There was a warm fluttering in her chest at the sight of the rakish smile that broke out upon his face as he recognized her too and she dipped her head to him, careful not to reveal the smile that tugged at her mouth.

"You know this lady?" the stranger asked, glancing at Lord Brandon.

"Indeed. I do have the pleasure of being acquainted with her." Charles answered, turning to his friend, "Your Majesty, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Lady Mercedes of Kent."

_Your Majesty_...

The water was loud in her ears as Mercedes was confronted by a horrifying realization, but she guarded her expression from revealing it and then executed her best curtsy. Cold water touched her thighs but she concealed the shudder as she said quietly, "Your Majesty..."

"You did not know me?" He was blunt, his curiosity making him so.

She raised slightly startled eyes to his face, but after a calming breath relied on honesty. "I did not, my Lord. Forgive me." she dipped her head respectifully and hoped he accepted the apology.

Charming. Henry thought, her wrong righted. It was a good word for her. "There is nothing to forgive." he said, "I'm simply surprised...But then, I've have not seen you at Court. I would have remembered."

It was no slip of the tongue, she was to mark his words, and she did, her blood rushing faster, confusion muddling her senses, naivety leaving her unprepared.

Charles marked them as well and when he glanced over at his friend he saw keen interest swirling within his blue eyes. It was an unmistakeable gaze, one he had seen numerous times and he was reminded of what kind of a man Henry was. Desirous, ambitious, and...king. He looked back at Mercedes and felt himself let go of those few fancies he had held since their meeting. He would always come second to his friend, the king.

"Are you alone, Lady Mercedes?" he asked, his smile somewhat dimmed in the glittering sunlight.

She looked back at him, her green eyes luminescent like the leaves of a young tree and a hint of a smirk showed about her mouth. "No, my Lord, my lady is in the shade...No doubt asleep. I have been unmerciful and have kept her here too long."

"Lady Mercedes unmerciful? I rather doubt it." Charles smiled, incapable of guarding himself from the charm of how she spoke.

She laughed openly, a sound clear and rolling like the water within which she stood, and it surprised them both, not by its volume, for it was demure of course, but by its bewitching quality. Henry found it most pleasing and he urged his horse forward, into the water and towards the lady.

She stood quite still and he stopped just before her, looking down from atop his mount, his shadow falling over her face. "Would you allow me to assist you out of the water, milady - It is most unwise for you to continue standing in it."

She felt shy before him, a thing she was teaching herself to rebel against but which, in his presence, seemed an impossible hurdle to overcome. She contained a forced laugh of amusement, "Surely my Lord, no more harm is to be done." she touched her skirts, indicating their soaked state, "I should not wet your saddle unreasonably."

Promptly, the King surprised her by swinging himself off of his horse and into the water alongside her. "Then allow me to offer you my arm."

She hesitated, her smiling gaze faltering, and she knew he had seen it. So she smiled, looking down and excepted his arm, trying hard not to notice how firm it was beneath his tunic, while she took hold of her sopping hem with her other hand.

Brandon waited for them on the bank and the neighing of his horse woke Mercedes' companion.

"Milady!" She cried out, seeing first Mercedes hem, and then, recognizing the King, she immediately and awkwardly curtsied, mumbling some form of deference.

"Beth..." Mercedes relieved her, "Please bring the wine...Your Majesty and Lordship, would you care for some refreshment?"

"Thank you, milady, but no...We have our own party - Whom we must return to." Henry said, much to Charles' surprise. " The king untwined her arm from about his own and brought his lips to her hand, "It has been a pleasure meeting you. I hope to see you at Court...soon."

"And you...Your Majesty." She curtsied to him and Henry smiled, the smile that had stolen so many women's hearts all ready now tried to steal Mercedes, but she held onto it and instead, turned her eyes on Lord Charles as the king turned to fetch and mount his horse. Yet the handsome noble kept his distance, and offered her only a small measure of the charm he'd shared before. With a bow he said some polite nothing too soon forgotten and he joined his king in riding away from the stream.

Once they were away, Henry slowed up and allowed Charles to ride alongside him. The lord looked to his king, barely hiding the frown he felt crawling along his face. "Why did we leave so soon, your Majesty?"

"Because..." Henry said, his eyes set on some far distant point in the field before them, "A girl like that...You take your time. Or have you never known an innocent?" And with those goading words he spurred his horse on ahead.

- - -

Night came, bringing fewer stars than usual and more clouds than any had wanted, and Mercedes sat writing her parents a letter with supressed pleasure in keeping the secret of whom she'd met by the stream from her uncle.

It had given her some power, some secret delight, that strange and brief meeting; she now knew something he didn't, she now had something to look forward to - an invitation to court. Why she would recieve it? That did not matter, not really. All that mattered was getting out from under Lord Hugo's thumb, and accomplishing her goal. Though it did burn her that Lord Charles had seen somewhat withdrawn, she was perfectly content to move on. At least she knew she could get a man's attention - even a king's.

She held back a frown at the thought, her quill held hovering. A king's attention was not what she wanted. She did not want that much...education. She settled on a demure word even in her own mind. But again, King or not, any man with a wife she would not want. She would not be guilty of that kind of betrayal, not even to a stranger. She knew all ready what that felt like coming from one of her own family.

But he was handsome.

The memory of his eyes, how powerful and observant they were brought a blush to her cheeks and she knew that she could not finish her letter that night. Putting down her quill and folding the paper to store for another time, she rose and turned to go.

"Mercedes..." Hugo finally addressed her directly, even though his eyes never left his book, she knew where his attention lie.

"Yes, Uncle?"

"I have met a young man whom I believe would be suitable for you."

The words were simply stated, without formality or distinction, in a tone suitable for discussing the weather or the country's economics. "Oh?" She said as simply, with as little concern.

"Yes. I think I shall introduce you soon...Do you think you are ready for the task?" he looked up at her now, his dark eyes searching

She paused, knowing he alluded to Thomas and the resulting wound - not that he genuinely cared. He probably had chosen some pock-marked lord he owed a debt to and did not want her to burst into a fit of 'feminine' hysterics. The thought of blue eyes and an invitation to the Royal Court flashed in her mind and she straightened her shoulders, her spirits encouraged. "I am ready."

He observed her inward shift and his eyes glimmered with his own secrets. "Good."


	6. Chapter 4: Knitting the Web

Chapter 4: Knitting the Web

_I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore, be cunning as serpents, and innocent as doves._

_- Matthew 10:16_

Mercedes dreams were haunted that night. But not by any named ghost.

Perhaps it was the wine she'd had at dinner, or perhaps it was the chilling she'd received from the river. Whatever it was, Mercedes tossed and turned fitfully as she dreamt - one of the most vivid of dreams. A most beautiful nightmare.

She could see herself as she ran. She was running through a maze, a verdant knot gardent, lit only by moonlight and fireflies. She could feel someone following her, pursuing her, a predator at her feet, a hound snapping at her heels. She could feel her blood thumping in her veins, a warm, moist wind tugging at her, like the breath of some fiery-maned lion. It tangled her hair, loose about her face, it wrapped the skirt of a fine ivory and gold gown tight about her legs - tight like sheets. She fell. Into roses she fell, and though their perfume was sweet, drugging euphoric, there were thorns, and they made her bleed. Blood stained everything. Blood was on her hands.

The dream Mercedes looked up to see her pursuant, a blue eyed angel, a white-teethed demon, smiling at her, whispering her name as his lips came crushing down upon her own. But his kiss tasted bitter, and it stung her lips as the thorns of the bed of roses stung her skin. Suddenly she was wearing nothing but a thin shift, and the thorns ripped it, tearing her skin, shedding more blood. There was a crow, calling her from above, and she heard the chiming of a far distant bell -

Sitting up straight, her eyes glassy and her face flushed and hot, Mercedes clutched the edge of the sheets. They were clean, damp with sweat but devoid of blood. She closed her eyes gratefully and breathed deep, soothing herself, reminding herself that all nights ended, as did all nightmares. Thankfully she could smell only lavender, and no roses as the early dawn breezes stirred her window dressings.

"Milady?" the voice of her maid drew her eyes open once more and she smoothed her hair with only slightly shaking hands.

"Yes." her voice was controlled and authoritative. The maid came in, pitcher in her hand; water to cleanse away the dregs of sleep, and poured it into a bowl. Mercedes climbed from the bed anxiously and rinsed her eyes with a generous amount of the clear liquid. Cooling her cheeks and savoring the sensation, she looked up into the polished metal plate of her mirror and studied her reflection. It seemed strange to her. It was the same face, same shape and form, her lips were still somewhat down-turned at the corners, her eyes were still a little smaller than she would like, but attractively green.

"Lord Hugo requested your presence as soon as possible, milady." the maid intoned, interrupting her study. Receiving a nod, she obeyed her mistress and went to the clothing press, removing a dress of hunter green with black.

Had the dream been an omen? A part of Mercedes wondered as she dried her face and hands. She took up her brush and started to untangel her hair, slowly and methodically. Once upon a time she might have believed it to be such - but not anymore. Though there must be a God she was now certain that he would not be so kind as to warn her of any impending danger - he hadn't before, had he.

A touch at the back of her head startled her, but she concealed it as she recognized the now familiar working of her maid's hands as she hastily and deftly braided some of her hair so that it would stay out of her face. The only warning she would have was her own instinct and from now on that was the only voice which she would follow. Mercedes smiled a small knowing smile in the mirror. Omen or otherwise, she was about to take control of her future.

- - -

The Earl of Hereford was anxious for his niece to appear. It was evident in the way he had commanded himself to stay seated in his chair, even though every muscle in his lean aged form yearned to move, to _do_something. Yes, Hugo Rushworth, Earl of Hereford was a man who liked to be in control, believed in planning and action, and Marek Gerald was a man who liked his dues paid, and believed in the advantages of a well made marriage contract.

At a score and three years old, Marek was a cunning man who had come from the lower ranks of society and made a fortune for himself, a name for his shield. The son of a knight, a man who had served in the king's army, he bore the resemblance of nobility, his brow high, his nose straight, his mouth tempting a smile. He held back a smirk now, enjoying the prospect of the Earl squirm as a _woman_thwarted him even in this slight way. He was an observative man, it was what had won him this prize; his ability to read situations, and the keen desire to turn them to his advantage had served him well - very well in this case. The Rushworth estate, noble in name, would become ample in deed under his tending, and he, Marek Gerald, would be an Earl in his own right, and no longer be the disadvantaged.

Gloating in the coming culmination of his aspirations, Marek was startled by the creak of wood as a small foot tread into his arena. He turned to see the woman he would take to wife, only to find himself confronted with his demise.

Lithe, Mercedes Kent was anything but merciful, her green eyes slicing through the room, marking him with her dark fringed gaze, her rose lips a bud drawn tight, her skin pale and milky in contrast with her darker apparel. She was more than beautiful, she was temptation. And it was clear that Marek's new found temptress despised him - or at least did not think him worthy of a second glance. But what he would do for one.

Yet he was not a groveler. He was a conqueror. He would conquer Mercedes heart - or at least the beautiful shell that encased it.

"My dearest..." Hugo placed a benevolent kiss on Mercedes cheek, smiling with a fine show of affection. Detached, Mercedes simply watched him, her gaze cool, all too aware of the game he played, waiting for his move. "Sir Gerald, may I present to you, my niece...Mercedes."

He uttered her name like it was a prayer, or the name of some precious jewel, some prize, and Mercedes recognized the trump in the act. She turned to the man, and looked at him once again. To say she had been surprised upon first sight of him would be accurate - he was actually still alive. To venture that she found him attractive was probable, he was handsome, his eyes a steady brown, his frame broad and strong, his tailor accomplished. However, to accept him as her fate, Mercedes would never do.

He was not her choice. She would not be his.

But she knew the line she walked was precarious, sticky like a spider's web. If a step was mislaid she could be caught, entrapped, and drained of her strength, of her very soul. So she affected a coy smile, hiding it just so, and sank to her knees, bowing her head so that the curvature of her creamy throat led like a path to the black lace rimmed bodice of her dress. She took a slow breath and then looked up carefully from beneath her lashes. Seeing the warm gleam of lust in the eyes of the man she knew she was already affianced, she recognized the successful transition from fly to spider, and rose smoothly, her skirt's rustling the only sound.

"You are even more lovely than you're uncle promised...My lady..." The touch of his lips to her hand was nothing to be worried over, and Mercedes let the appendage fall back to her side with little consequence. "I pray that you are as pleased with the arrangement as I am."

There was a hint of the wolf in his smile, a smirk that played within the depths of his eyes like a devil. Yet it only left her feeling more empowered, even as she docilely nodded her head in agreement.

He would think her the dove, yet she would be the serpent.

- - -

"You may drop the act now." Hugo sat brooding in the shadows of his study, watching Mercedes as she returned the book he had asked her to read from that morning, Marek Gerald her rapt audience.

"Act?" She asked, tilting her head, feigning confusion.

"I much would have preferred a frosty or even fiery confrontation rather than this charade you have chosen to play." He rubbed the emerald of his ring, "I fear you will find costly in the end."

"No, _dearest _Uncle, I think you fear it costing yourself." She sat in the chair opposite him, fingers laced languidly, her eyes confident if not haughty.

Unbothered by her accuracy, he knew her naivety. "Do you think you can thwart me, girl? I am your guardian. You are legally bound to Sir Gerald. Bound to him - by me!" His voice made up in power what it lacked in volume. Still, Mercedes maintained a calm disposition, a smile playing about her mouth like an unruly child.

There was a knock on the study doorway, and the herald proceeded, carrying a platter with a letter, a large red splotch of wax gleaming. The timely touch of Providence's hand sent a shiver of excitement coursing through her and she watched, anxious, as her uncle broke the seal with his finger. Spreading the letter, the parchment crackled, as did the embers in her green eyes.

Her uncle's steely gaze flicked over it and she saw the shadow of defeat flit across his features. He looked at her with something akin to amazement, and she liked to think new found respect, as he said, "It's an invitation to a Masquerade - for the enjoyment of the King and Queen."

She allowed the triumphant smile life, and relished the happy beating of her heart.

Hugo looked at her, searching for the event he had missed, the move that had prompted this...this...opportunity. _His _opportunity. Suddenly he wanted to adopt Mercedes, adopt and marry her all at once! She was so beautiful, so naive, so wonderfully wounded! All of these elements made her a prize marionette - one who sometimes could pull her own strings and work wonders! He looked at her like a hunter looks at his prized hound. With pride, and with expectancy. "My dear, girl..." he was near heady with the promise of it all, "You shall need a new dress."

Mercedes was tempted to laugh but simply smiled, standing. She held out her hand and her uncle could not deny her. She took the letter over to the window, reading it for herself. Her own pride and expectations blossomed like a million roses on the food of those words and she smiled to herself, imagining and dreaming. The sunlight lit the garden outside, falling through the window and warmed her face. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, the feel of standing on the threshold, and the knowledge that it was her own step to take. She closed her eyes, forgetting that she had now idea where exactly she was going.

* * *

First off I want to thank all you wonderful reviewers! You seriously wrote this chap, because I was ready to abandon this story - due to intense lack of inspiration - and you guys gave me the push I needed. Ya'll rock! Lol...anyway, thanks for reading, i apologize for the delay - the ungodly long delay! You really deserve better. The next chap I already have sitting in my head so it should only take another sleepless night to get it up here :)

Thanks again to Boleyn Girl13, Raging Raven, BrokenAngel1753, babygurl1944, .1, courtlygames90, InTiMaTeLoVeRfOrEvEr, Wicked Plum Vintage (you have no idea what those words meant to me, girl!), and Vixen666...love you guys! 3 Peace out!

Next chap...5: Amongst The Wolves


	7. Chapter 5: Predator and Prey

Chapter 5: Predator Becomes Prey__

Who was in whose sights as I took aim? Who was winging circles 'round whose flame?  
- Bangkok, by Brother Sun, Sister Moon

The royal court of King Henry VIII was one of luxury and danger. Treachery lurked behind every corner, and schemes behind every door. No amount of lace or satin, no sparkling jewel could hide that. Lord Hugo had warned her, educated her as he could. Mercedes had listened and made to prepare herself. Still, there were some things no amount of practice or preening could help.

The insecurity that over took Mercedes the night of the Masquerade was unwelcome and unwanted. Standing at her uncle's elbow she was as decorated as a princess, her dress of blue and silver shimmering perfection, her hair upswept from her face, curling in long dark tendrils down her back. Yet she felt like a paltry shadow compared to the angels that spun and hovered about the court. Fingers curled in her skirt; she felt naked amidst all the other noblemen and women who were part of the revel, their smiles white and shining, eyes glistening with knowledge she did not possess as they laughed and drank together. She felt as if she did not belong there.

_A fish out of water._

There was music, but she could barely dance. Her own smile was forced, as it had been for the past three days. They had been days of torment, of battling her own thoughts and feelings. One minute she would feel beautiful, powerful, invincible, then the next she could see every flaw, weakness, and fear, combining forces to destroy her, and she would feel wretched.

_A caterpillar among butterflies. _

With no idea of what to do, she stood and pretended to enjoy herself, sipping at a goblet of mulled wine as her uncle talked with some man whose name she had been unable to catch. Before, at her own home, it had been easy to mingle with the guests, walking among them, dancing with them, slipping through the shadows to have a kiss stolen...She steeled herself against Thomas and his memories. Looking across the room, denying her own desperation, she found salvation.

She would have known those eyes and that smirking mouth anywhere. Even behind the mask he wore as a member of the masqueraders who had just given them a fine show, they were unmistakable. She glanced away, then back, sending a gaze full of candlelight to him, beckoning him. She saw an answering spark, amusement, beguilement in his eyes. He underestimated her, but that was alright, she knew what she was doing and what she wanted him to do. She wanted Charles Brandon to be her lover...well, at least her first. There was an apprehensive swell of butterflies in the pit of her stomach, and she swallowed to keep smiling. He was coming.

With a tilt of his chin and a turn of his head, he told her of his intended path, and so she waited, watching. His shoulders appeared exceptionally broad in the black and gold attire, a shadow about his face giving him a dangerous edge, his eyes open and winsome. Mercedes only glanced away to make sure that her uncle was not noticing their oncoming guest. She would brook no opposition, by God's blood. Thankfully, Hugo was busy and deeply involved in conversation. She looked back, brimming with expectancy. But she could not find him. Expecting the crowd's confusing powers, she searched, and still...he was not there.

Her hope crumbling like a dried leaf beneath fate's cumbersome boot heel, she took a sip of wine.

- - -

"Give me your mask."

Apparently Henry had not been as engrossed with the red-head dancing before him as Brandon had hoped. Obviously the king had seen all of his and the lady Kent's communication and gone into action. Pulled into the shadowy doorway of a hall, the king had affectively stopped him and was now wholly thwarting his best friend's wishes. Gritting his teeth against the harsh refusal rising to his lips, Charles removed the mask, exchanging it for Henry's own. The king then had the nerve to insist on their exchanging cloaks. But Henry had the nerve to do whatever he so pleased.

It was as if looking into the mirror plate once more. Charles saw himself standing before him, only with bluer eyes and fuller lower lip - only with more power. The burn of resentment was hot in his stomach.

"How do I look, Brandon?" the king asked, his eyes glittering with excited expectation.

Brandon said what he thought, what he knew Henry would be pleased upon hearing. "Like a conqueror."

"Don't feel bad." Henry said, knowing the rueful set of his best friend's mouth. "She's not your type any way." and with that he turned on his booted heel and disappeared into the crowd.

"Damn him." Charles whispered to the walls. He stared at the stones, immovable, considering for a long moment. Then, with a shove against them, turned to find a new goal.

Meanwhile, Henry searched for Mercedes. The water nymph, the phantom of his dreams. The green eyed girl that he'd taken as prey. Ever since that day by the river there had been a thought in his mind, ever since he'd caught sight of her that night he'd watched, playing with fantasies, and now was the time for action.

He saw her, finally dancing in the middle of the room, some man holding her hand...but not for much longer. He smoothly entered the pattern, whirling one lady, and turning from the next until he found himself standing still before Mercedes, his destination. Not looking at him directly, she smiled.

"You found me after all."

"How could I not insist." He took her fingers - they were slender and soft, fitting into his rough palm as if molded to do so - then handed her to someone else. He watched as she lowered her chin, coyly looking up from beneath her lashes at the other man, and then darting a glance to him. He smiled. She looked puzzled. But that only made him smile more.

"What's your name?" she whispered as they're shoulders touched in a slow turn. He turned his back to her, taking several steps before returning to take her hand again.

"What would you like it to be, lady?" he whispered.

She did not recognize his voice with all the noise, and his mask seemed to better disguise him now. "Who are you?" she said slyly, attempting to hide her disconcerted state.

He smirked, chuckling to himself. "Doesn't that defeat the purpose of the mask."

"Yet I do not wear one. The charade is unfair - " Again they were parted by the dance's pattern, and again the nobleman took her hand. Henry noticed how he looked at her, questioning her conversing with him. He exulted in the game's heights.

"And who said this life was fair, milady?" he whispered, stealing a waft of fragrance from her neck as once more their shoulder's touched; rosewater and something spiced.

She smiled, a bit bitterly, and shrugged one delicate shoulder.

"Unfair, but sweet...at least for this night."

She turned her head to look at him upon hearing those words. There was something familiar about his eyes, the snap in the blue...Yet before she recalled for sure, he pulled them away. She went around Marek, ignoring his inquisitive gaze, the one that demanded much, and tried to remember. The man surely wasn't Lord Charles, but who...At the touch of his hand she recalled the king she'd met by the river.

Her heart began pounding and suddenly her corset strings were pulled much to tight. His hand was tight about her fingers and she fought the urge to pull away. She looked at him, hoping against hope to find him not King Henry, but her hope was once again killed, this time by smiling velveteen lips. The crowd pressed the dancers as the music became louder, with more tempo, and Mercedes moved her feet faster, yet unable to move away.

Around she went, turning and ducking, dipping her head, freeing her hand only to have it clasped tight once more. She looked up, caught a meaningful smirk from blue eyes, and then felt herself spun out of the line.

He had timed it perfectly, Marek had yet to notice she was gone, even as Henry pulled her through the crowd and Mercedes could do nothing but obey, wondering where he would take her. They did not go far. For that she was thankful. But she feared the small and shadowed corridor in which she found herself, alone with a king accustomed to taking what he wanted. _Like all men._Henry stood a foot from her and removed his mask, a smirk on his lips. "I have thought much of you, Lady Mercedes." His voice was deep and sent fiery tendrils of poisoned ivy climbing over Mercedes heart. She felt those lips touch the top of her fingers and pulled against his hold.

"I must go!"

"Why?" he demanded, taking her by her arms. She was small and frail, would be easily broken by him if he so chose. The thought made him feel invincible. A feeling long missed.

"Because, it is not right for me to be here...with you!"

He loved the tremble in her voice, the dilated state of her pupils; it electrified the green of her eyes, made him want to drink of their heady vintage. "With me?" he laughed, "But this is where I would have you - With me."

His choice of words scared her, and she was not ready for what he bespoke or to be frightened. She struggled against him, anxious. "If you do not let me go I shall scream - King or not."

"I shall simply silence you."

"What? With your hands?" She could easily defeat his hands she thought.

"No." he promised. "With my lips."

She stilled under his heavy gaze, now laying on her lips, watching as she drew breath. "What do you want of me?" she asked, slowly.

Those dangerous blue eyes shot up to her own, desire illuminating them in the dark. "To have you at court. I shall make you a lady of the queen..."

"For what purpose?"

"To be near you." He felt a spasm of lust shoot through him as he tasted her fragrance on his tongue, felt her skirts pressed against his legs. He stepped closer, wanting more.

"No!"

"You deny me?" Suddenly there was no smile in his countenance.

"Yes." she said, convincing herself that there was nothing to fear, even as she felt its cold fingers clawing at her.

"You deny your king?" his voice was warning.

Unthreatened by reason, Mercedes matched his challenging stare with one of her own. "Why not? I have nothing to lose...King or not." Her voice sounded weak even to her own ears, as he pressed even closer, his chest to hers.

"And everything to gain..." he whispered as he fingered the lock of hair that had fallen on her collar bone, rubbing it and twining it about his long fingers. His eyes played over her, memorizing the way the shadows danced across her shoulders and throat, the planes of her cheek and brow, the curvature of her mouth. In the silence, under the temptation, he touched her lips with his own, stealing her moist breath, extricating a plaintiff moan as he urged more.

She struggled beneath him, his lips a steel trap of lustful heat that she wouldn't have wanted to escape from had he been someone else - anyone else. But there were too many dangers, too many risks! So she fought, his fingers tightening on her, his body pressing her firmly against the wall, his mouth assaulting her in the most pleasurable of ways. She'd never known a kiss like his, and she could have been so easily lost in it. Part of her wanted to become so lost there that she'd never find her way out - and the fear of that happening was the one thing that saved her. She finally wrenched free, feeling wretched and treacherous. With a wide-eyed, unbelieving look at him, she backed away, and then ran out, back into the crowd, looking for her uncle.

Henry followed, watching as she disappeared, lowering the mask back into place just as he smirked.

Hugo watched as the King rejoined the Queen, saying not a word, and then the Earl turned to find Mercedes, having much food for thought.

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Thanks again to you fab reviewers and favoriters, and alerters...hehe, made up a couple new words there didn't I? Anywho...hope you enjoyed this...more to come soon!!!


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